This Aesthetic
by Rykea
Summary: Set to take place a week after the confrontation between Raikou and Haruka regarding Haruka's weakening state and his decision to stay by Kantarou's side. [HaruKan]


**This Aesthetic**  
_By Rykea Night_

The unnerving quiet of the house continued to press upon Kantarou's shoulders as he drafted up another article, sketching characters and thoughts with his pen. As he heard Youko slip out through the door again, he only clenched his jaw, letting the pen fall to the table, droplets of ink spraying the page. Sighing, he leaned back, casting his sights to the ceiling, the room above. The silence. It wasn't recent though, the uncomfortable distant air poisoning the home—it had been lingering for over a week now, to the extent Youko, herself, had become distant and sharp-tongued, finding every possible excuse to go into town, even visiting nonexistent friends.

Discontented and uninspired, Kantarou pulled himself to his feet and treaded down the hall and up the stairs, stopping before Haruka's room. Tapping lightly against the screen, he sighed. "Haruka?" He received no reply, not that one was expected. Resting his hand lightly against the frame, he pushed the screen open a fraction, enough to see into the hold, a single ray of dying daylight seeping into the darkness, illuminating speckles of dust as they danced through the air. Slipping through the opening, he treaded lightly into the dark, resting his back against the screen as he slid it shut behind him. The atmosphere reeked of apprehension, slithering up the boy's spine as he gazed towards the hunched figure in the corner, away from the light, sitting absently upon blankets and pillows, undressed and unclean.

"Haruka," he pressed again, taking a step towards the unkempt figure. "Please."

And silence. More and more deafening silence.

Biting his lip, Kantarou swept towards the figure leisurely, wrapping his arms around the tengu's chest, settling his face in the crook of his companion's shoulders, his breast pressed against the other's back. The very movement brought instantaneous tension to Haruka's frame, the muscles stretching and shifting, arching and straining, moving like hundreds of garter snakes beneath the skin.

"Leave me, Kantarou," he charged, his tone low, raspy.

The folklorist hummed at this, running his tongue over the goblin's skin, feeling the thick throbbing of the jugular beneath his lips. The salt of sweat flowing down his throat, he effortlessly moved around the tengu's naked body, straddling him with perfect familiarity. Haruka's eyes fell away as the boy pushed him down against the floor, running his hands over bare, sweaty flesh. Tracing his fingers down each rib, Kantarou lowered his lips to the tengu's breast, casting short kisses down the line of his stomach, the taste of sodium still present in his mouth as his pressed his tongue over the faint line of hair above the pelvis. A distant shudder seeming to run beneath the tengu's skin, Kantarou continued to lower himself, letting his tongue flick over the hilt of Haruka's cock, the flesh thick and smooth, dark like satin rose. Taking the shortest of breaths, the boy stroked a hand around the flesh, his mouth taking Haruka in with seeming greed, nibbling at the foreskin ever so lightly until the penis start to swell, slightly lifting from its dry, useless state. Slipping farther into Kantarou's mouth, he felt Haruka press at the back of his throat before coming back up, letting the tip dangle over his lips before consuming it once again, almost smiling with cynicism as Haruka's back began to arch, the faintest lines of strain appearing against the tengu's expressionless face. Again and again, until perfectly erect, slick with saliva, and the thinnest trickle of early cum.

Seeming pleased, Kantarou lifted himself from Haruka's body, the smallest glimmer of surprise forming across Haruka's brow, as if imagining the boy was going to leave him there, erect, paining, wanting. About to shift, to stand, to open his eyes hoping to grab the boy's arm, he half growled as he felt the tightness of Kantarou's sweet ass envelope his throbbing cock, ever so slowly sinking in, deeper, tighter. Opening his eyes, he watched the boy move atop him, the pleasure of pain masking the folklorist's pale face as he sank farther, harder. Using his thighs, he came down again upon Haruka's throbbing manhood, sinking deep enough until Haruka could feel the press of the boy's prostate against the head of his cock, the sweet familiar sensation. As the boy continued to impale himself, Haruka bit his lip, finally throwing his head back as he came, a spray of white spice flooding into Kantarou, through him.

Haruka's chest rising and falling with exhaustion for work undone, the boy lifted himself from the tengu's cock, lines of cum slithering down his leg from his buttock, and yet his face remained black, impassive, simply colored with heat. Turning his back, Kantarou attempted to fix his loose robes, running his hands back through his sweat-streaked hair, but before the breath could be stolen from his mouth, Haruka grabbed him by the shoulders, slamming him against the wall, letting the boards shudder and crack. Before Kantarou could even moan from the pain, the tengu's hand grabbed at the boy's cock, viciously stroking up and down the thin shaft, his fingers playing with the foreskin, pressing it back hard enough to draw tears.

"Haruka," he moaned in pathetic protest, only to scream agonizingly as the tengu thrust back into him, hard enough to draw blood. One hand still working Kantarou's cock and the other holding him victim against the wall, the boy moaned in pain bordering vicious pleasure, feeling the tengu dig deeper, farther, crushing up against his prostate unlike anything he had ever felt. Screaming once more, he came in a blur of heat, Haruka's now sticky hand still stroking over the limping membrane, attempting to bring him back once again. Tears streaking his face, he felt Haruka continue to pump into him, coming again, filling him with more ivory semen, and yet he still drove in quicker, slicker, deeper.

As Haruka pulled out of him in a quick, jarred movement, Kantarou collapsed to the floor in a mess of fluids, both his and Haruka's cum pooling around his feet, streaking his genitals and legs. Seemingly sated, Haruka licked the salty white cream from his claws, running his tongue over his fangs in pleasure. Returning to his resting place, he threw himself down, closing his eyes in vicious lucidity. Casting his sights over his shoulder, Kantarou pulled himself to his feet, once again wrapping his robe across his chest, attempting to ignore the sticky filth framing his corpse.

"You think that will break the silence?"

The folklorist sighed with the creature's words. "Not really."

After a slight pause of thought, he could almost swear hearing the tengu lightly laugh. "You could always order me to speak, to explain."

Kantarou only shook his head, stepping towards the screen. "And yet that would be useless." Seeming perplexed, Haruka glared over his shoulder, Kantarou feeling the gaze on his back. "Being your master is all to easy if I do that."

The room bathed in another coat of soundlessness, the boy lightly slid the screen open, taking a single step before he heard the tengu catch his breath.

"Perhaps he's right."

Kantarou narrowed his gaze at this, casting his vision back over his shoulder. "Who?"

"That I'm growing weaker the longer I stay with you."

His tongue pressed against his teeth, Kantarou sighed once more, not adept to covering blatant truth with lies. "Perhaps," he replied gently. "Though I already told you it is your decision to make, whether or not to stay."

He received no reply, but he sensed the tengu's lethargic nod.

"Is that all?" Kantarou asked, almost wearily. Receiving another nod of muteness, he continued into the hall, shutting the screen behind him. Walking down the hallway, he could still sense Haruka's tension and strife, the torment of his mind as he hacked away at pride and principal. Still, even though Kantarou lusted for him to remain, he knew better. To cage a bird is to eventually be caught at a crossroads. One where the bird escapes the golden bars, disappearing without a sound, and the other to watch it wither and die, eventually throwing the carcass and the cage away.

His chest tight with ache, he rested his forehead against the nearest wall, digging his fingertips into the cloth. And yet either way, either path—they both brought nothing but pain.

_La fin._


End file.
